


The Little Things

by outcharm



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Arguing, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Ice Skating, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Some angst, Third Semester (Persona 5)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:55:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outcharm/pseuds/outcharm
Summary: In the midst of stress of Maruki's palace deadline coming up, Akira manages to convince Goro to go ice skating. It goes as well as expected
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Shuake - Relationship
Kudos: 31





	The Little Things

It’s January. Tokyo. In Maruki’s reality. 

Goro’s used to the coldness, the clouds of grey sprinkled across the monotone sky, and the wetness that produces a squelch sound each time he takes a step outside. He’s used to the cesspool of puddles and icey slosh that clutter the streets of Tokyo no matter where you decide to go. 

When Goro was a child, with his mother still around, he’d dreamt of winters with perfectly sculpted igloos, penguins skating on their bellies, and cozy warm mittens bought from stores a little more luxurious than the thrift stores he’d grown accustomed to back then. There was always hope for mounds of fluffy snow that looked like marshmallows on the hills, or delicately frosted panes with intricate snowflake patterns. 

Goro curses himself for the wishful thinking all those years ago because now it’s here, exactly what he wished for. Silky snow, dreamy crystal clear icicles, and a winter wonderland painted charmingly white all across Japan’s landscapes. Light pools and trickles down every beautiful rise and fall of the land, as if it were dancing in time to nature, all just to catch Goro’s eye. There’s a calmness in the fresh, cool air that naturally eases the tension in his shoulders every time his breath greets the outside of his apartment. He thinks if any of this had a flavor, it’d be refreshing mint. 

It’s beautiful. And Goro knows it’s just him being mocked. 

Didn’t he catch the goddamn memo? Dreams are truth, truth are dreams, and his thoughts are as readable as an elementary student’s picture book. Hatred for the deranged therapist oozes inside Goro, like yellow pus from an infected wound, ugly and raw. The four-eyed prick managed to make him seeth the way he had in those awful early days of awakening to Loki, where the detective prince knew nothing except the suffocating scent of blood and his ravenous appetite for revenge. _Disgusting,_ like flies around a corpse. If Maruki’s intention was to warm his cold heart, well, it backfired just as much as Goro’s original plan to take down the Phantom Thieves did. Now, his heart is just like the winter’s he’s used to; frostbitten and venomous. 

So, of course, one day in mid January, Kurusu Akira suggests ice skating in Kichijoji. As if this wouldn’t be a perfect opportunity to adjust the both of them to this corrupted reality. As if this isn’t just some trap Maruki concocted in that twisted mind of his. 

As if it wouldn’t make Goro think of the _what ifs._

If it’s one thing Akira has always had in his veins, it’s the fucking gall. It always sparked a match in Goro’s head, a hungry flame lit with both anger and curiosity, and later, a starving fire of attraction that left him swimming in his thoughts as he tossed and turned in bed. Goro knew it the first time he’d heard the leader of the Phantom Thieves speak, the way Akira’s cocky _“They do more than the police”_ comment made him shiver like a leather belt had struck him bare. For the first time in 3 years, his unbreakable mask had cracked, and Goro had felt it snap, as if he had broken a bone. 

Goro had already signed autographs, smiled until the muscles ached on his face, had been whisked through important adult celebrations and gatherings, new shiny coats, a briefcase with his last name’s initial on it, custom made leather gloves, television deals, and several murders, all in the span of 3 years. 

And Kurusu Akira has the gall to change things. 

Shortly after he’d played a couple of rounds of billiards with Akira, Goro thought maybe he should stop with his plan to humiliate Shido Masoyoshi. He had a good fortune to his name outside of working for Shido, and he had solved genuine mysteries during his time in law enforcement, so maybe he could become a full time detective with no more deceitful cases being closed. He could bury the memories of shadows pleading to be spared in a safe manner, something like a vault kept in the most hidden depths of his psyche. And after that, after he had peaked and had nothing left to conquer, he could retire quietly, disappear for several years, be greeted with the fresh scent of brewing coffee and curls of black hair swarming his vision every morning. 

Goro hadn’t gone through with it, of course. And there’s no room for regrets. 

Flashforward through months of bizarrely pointed games of darts, late night flirting at the jazz club, lies thicker than oil, a bullet through the head, and an alleged death, now, Goro’s beloved rival is asking him to go ice skating. As fucking _if_. 

Ice skating? _Really_ ? They don’t have the luxury. Sure, they’ve done all they can regarding Maruki’s palace until the deadline, but to waste such precious time that could be spent training in Mementos for something as juvenile as _ice skating_ , compared to the integrity of reality itself, makes Goro want to gag over a toilet. If he figured someone would ask him for such childish pastimes, it would be Yoshizawa, her doe eyes as big as saucers and her smile far too sweet for his specifically bitter taste. But Akira? _Please_. What’s next, tea parties with cult leader Maruki?

Plus, if Goro were even to _entertain_ the thoughts of such foolish fantasies, he hasn’t laced up a pair of skates in a decade. He's sure he could barely stand in them, and he’s 100% positive that he wouldn’t move with any grace. 

But of course, he has his reasons that aren’t just the tip of the iceberg, but instead deep below the surface level of the ocean. Ones where he’s sure Maruki is well acquainted with as well. The last time he had gone ice skating was with his late mother. It’s true, Goro had once really enjoyed ice skating. It meant time with mom, a _good_ time with mom where she had the energy to go out with him, with her larger warm hands gripping his smaller cold ones, and the biting frost of winter melting every time she shot that bright smile at him. 

Goro remembers the way his mother had called him a prodigy, her voice so proud and kind that it felt like her hugs, despite knowing deep down that he might as well have been a peanut in skill compared to the excellence of other children his age who floated across the rink like they didn’t need their skates. He remembers the cheap hot chocolate that his mother would purchase on rare days; it tasted better than any five star meal when the warm, rich flavor captured his tongue in a blanket of heat, and the coldness in the air paused to let him savor in the moment. His mother would always lovingly scold him to not drink so fast to save him from the perils of choking, her eyes wide, concerned, but somewhat sparkling with endearment. He remembers the Santa hats he’d politely ask for her to purchase, how her eyes would answer with an apology before her lips could, and how he knew better not to beg because he had tried that once and it had upset her. 

He remembers sliding off the safeties of the concrete, tumbling around on the ice and feeling free, boundless, like he could hold the icy blue sky in his hands and own it for just a little while, with his mother by his side.

Ice skating was a freedom amidst the chaos that lurked in the night back at their shitty apartment. 

If it was any one person who deserved the honors of going ice skating with Goro , it would be Akira, the wavy haired boy with glasses who taught him how to have fun again, the boy who was sharper than a tack when he pointed out that he’s left handed, the boy who had made him coffee in the summertime with the shards of golden sunlight slicing down his slick black hair, the boy who would meet his stare head on with eyes that reminded him of comforting thunderstorms in late August, the boy with a fire in his every step, and the boy who tenderly promised a rematch in the belly of Shido’s palace as Goro bled out on the shadow-stained floor. 

The boy he’d fallen in love with. 

But he won’t allow Maruki to _ever_ have the satisfaction of Goro ice skating again under his fucked up idealistic world. 

Surely, Akira can take Yoshizawa, Sakamoto, Niijima, any other Phantom Thief.

At least, it wouldn’t be the first time Goro had let Akira down. 

* * *

The next time Akira brings it up, it’s in person. It was foolish of Goro to stop by Leblanc for coffee anyways, knowing that Akira would decide to press despite him ignoring the text message in the first place. So, Goro shakes his head and tells his boyfriend no. This isn’t really up to discussion. He would be _miserable_ before he even got out the door with a light coat and his regular pair of gloves; it would just remind him of how delirious the weather is, how fake it all is compared to the seldom fond memories of his childhood, and that he’d be acting as a carefully decorated puppet for Maruki’s desires during the whole trip. 

Sure, Akira’s never been totally discouraged by his general tendency to brood, but if Goro is sulking the whole time, the leader of the Phantom Thieves will inevitably feed off of it, and by the evening, they’ll both be pathetic and dejected with piled up resentment towards each other. 

Goro can think of worse things, like Maruki beating the Phantom Thieves and cementing his twisted reality permanently. But still, the idea of really upsetting Akira makes him twitch inside, much to his annoyance.

Akira has an excellent poker face, but Goro’s studied his boyfriend’s expressions before like a textbook. The detective now knows his face down to a science. Akira’s brows furrowed into a knot, like they were tight strings of yarn, before loosely unraveling again back into a neutral expression. Annoyance. Hurt, possibly. Then, Akira shrugs briefly, as if his refusal didn’t bother him, but it clearly has. There’s a silence between the two of them that feels heavy like a bag of cement, and the only sound that escapes through the quiet is the pleasant humming of brewing coffee. Goro isn’t bothered by silence, not at all - on most occasions, it’s nice, because he doesn’t have to conjure up rehearsed and regurgitated small talk he’s used plenty of times on day time television. But this feels tense, like a strained muscle after a rigorous workout, and it’s playing out for far too long. 

“Why not?” Akira’s voice kind of sounds like a child who had just dropped their freshly made ice cream cone on the ground. He’s never been this petulant before, and all Maruki related reasons aside, he should know by now that Goro’s not super big on PDA. Still, as per usual, Akira has the gall to act like his refusal has something to do with him personally. 

Goro hadn’t told Akira the other reason why, and he isn’t sure he can handle such a fragile topic knowing Maruki could use it to manipulate him later. 

Still, Goro still raises an eyebrow incredulously. Surely he can’t be _this_ dull. Where’s the rival who outsmarted him that fateful day 2 months ago in the interrogation room? He had hypothesized Akira’s logic had begun to wither away the moment their relationship began, and what had taken its place was that pesky thing called emotions. Goro wishes he could kill his own like one does with a fly. 

“Because it would be like giving a child candy after they relentlessly act up for hours. It’s exactly what Maruki _wants_ . He _wants_ us to get comfortable in entertaining the thoughts of a life here, in this _farce_ he calls reality, when the truth is we need to get _back_ to fighting shadows and focus on leveling up our abilities in the Metaverse. You haven’t forgotten our deal, _have_ you?” Goro focuses all his energy into making the question laced with enough venom to kill a man. 

Akira’s eyes darken a bit until they’re the color of an ashy coal, while his hands grasp the counter with a grip strong enough to put a crack in it.

“Of course not.”

"Good.” 

That _should_ have been the end of that, but Akira has always been persistent in the way roaches are when coming back for more. That fighting spirit never flickers away from its base, like a sturdy candle. 

“I just think it’d be good for you,” Akira sighs, his eyes cascading down from Goro’s eyes, to his lips, then to his gloved hands. He uses that look, that _genuinely_ _concerned_ look that humiliatingly makes Goro’s knees feel like a rubber sheet you can wobble back and forth. How _stupid._ What’s best for him is scorching Maruki into a pile of ash and returning to a reality that is rightfully theirs. He doesn’t need relaxation, or a day off. Sitting around here doing nothing just makes Goro even more…. anxious, he supposes he would call it. 

Fine. He’ll bite. 

“Just _how_ would it be good for me?” 

Akira shifts his shoulders around and adjusts his weight on his feet to the point where he’s no longer leaning over. He almost falls over in the process; clearly, the brilliant Phantom Thief hadn’t expected him to actually inquire about the relaxing properties involved in ice skating. 

It’s always a pleasure to Goro when he manages to catch Akira off guard; the cockiness in his boyfriend’s eyes dissolves faster than salt in water when he’s knocked off his mental rhythm, and he gets what he deserves for improvising so often. In Goro’s world, the second you aren’t on your toes, you slip on black ice and crack your head open on the pavement. But Akira doesn’t play by the rules, and especially not by the detective’s. 

Despite everything, Goro can’t repress the shudder he still gets from humbling Kurusu Akira once again. He comes to the conclusion that a small victory is better than none at all. 

But Akira’s always taken a punch and gotten up just as fast as he was knocked down, like each misfortune, no matter how large, was just the wince that comes with poking an old bruise. His optimism is both sickening and charming, creating a paradoxical effect in Goro’s heart that he hasn’t quite adjusted to yet. 

“Exercise. You’re too hasty on your feet lately, not calculated enough. My guess is, you’re really fucking angry, and you have every right to be. I’m angry too. Just try to stop treating battles like a free slaughter farm, and more like one of our games of chess. Ice skating is all about going through the motions and deciding which movements will work best.”

Goro underestimated Akira, once again. He _really_ needs to stop doing that. It’s… a solid line of reasoning, one lacking sentimentality and pity, which the detective appreciates. And although the criticism, especially from someone like Akira with _way_ less experience in the Metaverse would normally make Goro want to burn his lips with steaming hot coffee, he doesn’t - instead, he chugs the beverage, although wishing it were something more stronger and alcoholic. He doesn’t even have the itch to scratch and tear at his skin. 

Progress. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?

Goro admits to himself that he has been getting hasty with his attacks lately. Sometimes, he’s been letting himself get hit by enraged spells, just because slashing through the enemies of Maruki’s mind until they’re nothing more than black goo has been _divine_. Divine in that way where it’s cathartic, the same way nicotine addicts finally get to smoke that cigarette at their lunch break they didn’t have time for in the morning. But, just like all addictions, it’s destructive, and even worse, distracting. Especially from the mission. 

Recently, the days spent in Maruki’s palace have made him want to turn himself into psychotic until he’s blind with it, made him want to gut every single pretentious shadow in a lab coat until his gloved hands are sick with the scent of blood and medicine, made him want to kill with as much vigor as a genocidal dictator. 

Maybe that’s what Maruki wants. To drive Goro mad and away from his goal to take back reality for himself. 

So, yeah. Ice skating. Sure. It could help Goro get back to thinking with a clear head rather than a foggy one clouded with violence. Practicing precise moves is exactly what he needs. 

“... Okay. Point taken. If you have any other reasons, here’s your chance to provide them.”

Akira scoffs with a sharp laugh, clearly amused at Goro’s unwillingness to admit that _yeah_ , the attic trash was right again, no matter how infuriating that might be. The Phantom thief shakes his head again, his hair ruffling in the golden light of Leblanc’s lamps, before smiling with all his teeth. “I mean, I really shouldn’t need a reason to do something nice with my boyfriend.”

Goro still gets this invasive lightness in his chest that interferes with his breathing every time Akira actually calls him _his_ boyfriend. It seems rustling the feathers of the detective prince is just one of his rivals’ many talents. But, because he’s an expert at pretending, he doesn’t let it show; instead, he regards Akira coolly for a long moment, before a wry grin begins to tug on his cheeks. “We already do _lots_ of nice things together.”

Without a single pause, Akira takes the bait more eagerly than a starving fish in a lake. “I don’t mean _that_ .” He sarcastically rolls his eyes so hard that Goro thinks Akira’s might permanently turn white. “And you _know_ it, _asshole_.”

“So, c’mon. What’s your answer?”

Dates are meant to be fun, and it’s obvious to Goro now that what Akira really wanted was some fun and affection from the third-year, which is not what was supposed to happen. This is a training exercise _only_ , and he will not bow down to some winter holiday spirit Maruki wants Goro to enjoy, despite knowing that it would make Akira happy. 

5 months ago, Goro wouldn’t have given a damn, but much like this reality, things are different now. _He’s_ different now. He cares for Akira, at a hefty amount. And caring for others for Akechi Goro is as unnatural as Sakamoto’s bleached blond hair. It still feels uncomfortable for the detective, as if he were wearing a poorly made itchy sweater. Regardless, he continues to wear it as it bristles against his skin, because he knows it’s too late to take it off. 

As Goro ponders this dilemma, feels himself about to give into the ice skating request, until he catches Akira’s small hopeful smirk, and there’s not much else that could get the detective to change his mind than a smug face from his rival. 

There was a time when Goro wanted nothing more than to break Akira’s perfectly sculpted jaw, so he could no longer smirk like _that_ , to shred him to guts with his persona with all the fierce vigour and rage of a teenage girl suffering her first heartbreak, angrily slamming his fists down on his coffee table and biting his tongue to keep himself from screaming in public when the Phantom Thief had somehow avoided all repercussions of his Medjed plan, and when Akira would stare at him with those knowing eyes. And there was a time where Goro could see and feel Akira’s magnetism, like he’d been stung with a bee, but found himself inevitably drawn to him and began to feel waves of self-hatred claw at him for nights where he would get no sleep. And then there was when they’d play chess in the late afternoons at Leblanc, where Goro performed on the board like he was goddamn born for it, his mind like lightning and a flaming sword _all the time_ , and where he’d stopped living for defeating Akira and started living for the moments where admiration and happiness would light up the younger boy’s smile, where he wasn’t trying to hide it. That time is similar to this version of Akira, who kisses with the skill, preciseness, determination, and _passion_ he’d demonstrated in Niijima Sae’s palace, who learned Goro’s body and taught it back to him with the same dedication Goro had taught Akira how to play billiards. 

Goro is trying to let go of his bitter resentment, his blind wrath, his angry tangents about things he cannot change, even his pride. But his pride is still his most prized possession, even despite his pleading in the boiler room to change Shido’s heart. 

“No. If I need more help on my feet I’ll let Yoshizawa-san take lead in battle and simply follow her movements. I’ll keep in mind those deep breathing exercises Niijima-san mentioned in one of Maruki’s safe rooms 2 days ago.”

Whatever arrogant little grin that was on Akira’s face has disappeared now, a distinct sad frown now taking its place as he reaches out for Goro’s empty coffee cup, takes it in his hands, and briskly turns the opposite direction to wistfully scrub it in Leblanc’s kitchen sink. After 3 minutes of silence that feels bitter enough to gag on, Akira jogs upstairs without a word, comes back downstairs with a fresh pair of clothes, then walks out of Leblanc like a miserable old man, muttering the words, “Bathouse”, in case Goro was wondering where to find him. 

Okay. So, that may have been a miscalculation. It wasn’t supposed to affect Akira _that_ badly. He had underestimated how much a rejection would mean to him. But it still takes a further 20 minutes for Goro to shift uncomfortably in his seat, a seat that suddenly feels like it’s cushioning is made of straw, to decide that maybe an apology is in order and he should go find his pouty boyfriend at Yongen-Jaya’s local bathhouse. 

* * *

Goro stalks into the bathhouse waiting area, its atmosphere reminding Goro of the feeling one gets after brushing one’s teeth; refreshing, and a minor but important sense of accomplishment you’ll need to push through the day. That changes as fast as a pin drops; through the foggy glass window, he can make out Akira in the giant bathtub, his messy hair now tamed by water to where it’s a slick black, similar to oil, and unfortunately, the detective finds himself intoxicated by it. 

He’s _beautiful_. 

Goro’s breath hitches. He pictures Akira debauched, his glossy lips kiss-swollen, smeared with Goro’s spit from their messy make out sessions, and his hair like a car wreck with it’s messiness. 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He’s supposed to be here to apologize, but all he feels is frustration, both at himself and Akira. It repeatedly assaults and abuses him until all Goro wants to do is drive his hard boot into one of the laundry machines and fanatically curse until his throat is hoarse from all the yelling and his foot aches from all the kicking. Being back here reminds Goro of the time in September where Goro dumped some childhood trauma and backstory onto Akira, as if the Phantom thief were a landfill for all of his dirty memories, and how his future boyfriend had responded, so utterly uncomprehendingly understanding. In this room, he recalls the way his heart felt too big for his chest when Akira had told him they were similar, resolute, as firm as granite, and more beautiful than any symphony Goro had ever heard in his life. The detective grinds his teeth and bites his lip, all in a fury he doesn’t quite understand. 

Breathing exercises. After all, Goro did say earlier he’d start using them. He leans his back against the wall and closes his eyes, prepared to inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 7, and exhale for 8, but there’s another memory shortly after the one he just recalled, one sharp enough to make his breath hitch: Akira in such a small towel that only covered his sex, his skin glowing as if he were made of gold, his muscles lean and precise like a blade of a sword, the way they were both so _boiling hot_ , and how much he had to resist staring, twitching, and squirming just from his rival’s flirty but challenging gaze alone. 

And that’s when Akira walks in, practically naked, looking like he’d just been bathing in holy water - that’s the only possible explanation that comes to mind when he comes out so utterly stunning. Suddenly, Goro realizes he’s been tricked. Akira must have known precisely what the effect on all that bath-pinkened skin will have, and how absolutely fucking distracting it is. What sort of sinful, downright _animalistic_ reaction is this? It’s just like that night in September, except this time Goro doesn’t have his defenses up; he simply hadn’t expected how quickly he’d lose his sanity to this. His rival is sauntering around half naked, and now, his brain has seemed to cease its function. Goosebumps sprint up the detective’s arms as if they had been training for the Olympics. His whole being is now trembling, but bizarrely, not with rage. 

With _want._

Goro’s left speechless; any ideas he had about apologizing have evaporated, even as Akira ignores his presence. 

“ _Akira_ ”, Goro croaks out like his throat is dry and incredibly sore. The name of his boyfriend sounds pathetic when he says it, but he can’t bitterly remediate over that right now. 

As if Goro were just mere dust floating in the room, Akira aimlessly drifts over to a locker where his clothes must be. “Yeah?” He sounds barely interested. Dismissive. Kind of sour, too. Definitely not the best way to end the night before Goro has to go back to his apartment. That brings up an important question: does the second year have _any_ idea of the tension swirling lowly in the detective’s gut, or even hear the borderline desperate sigh he eases out of himself to somehow suppress the building ache? His instability must _finally_ register because Akira slowly circles around to face him, cocks his head to the side, and studies Goro’s unease with eyes that burn like a cigarette and a smile that knows the truth. The leader of the Phantom Thieves coyly slides out his tongue like some kind of tempting servant, obviously taking pleasure in the fact that he’s able to unravel Goro like this. 

With a haughty, victorious grin, Akira examines Goro from head to toe and finally asks, “Do you want to go ice skating with me?”

God-fucking-damn him. Extortion? Blackmail? Is Akira really trading sex with him for a date, or is this revenge for Goro’s stubbornness earlier? Either way, he should have known this was a trap; now, not only has Goro lost a battle of wits against his rival, but his pride too. His pride is now tumbling off of the balcony of his heart and slamming into the ground, now unrecognizable. The detective can’t even find any fury right now, not when Akira’s standing there, casually toying with the edge of his small towel. 

“I’d like that,” Goro finally manages to speak out, very reluctantly, feeling every inch of pain as his ego is gutted by this humiliating altercation. 

Akira smirks like his first persona, Arsene. 

“Good.” 

**Author's Note:**

> First upload for Shuake! This is the first time in awhile I've written ship stuff so I'm kinda nervous;; if you liked this please leave kudos and comments, it helps me grow as a writer!


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